


Hazy Shade of Winter

by treefrogie84



Series: Coldest Hits That Weren't [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14.01 stranger in a strange land, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-02 06:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Sam Winchester stands in the center of a lackluster BBQ shack in Detroit and shouts “There will be no new king of Hell. Not today, not ever.” The power in his voice is accidental, meant to be kept on purely human level, but the structure of the universe remembers.Remembers, andobeys.





	Hazy Shade of Winter

Sam Winchester stands in the center of a lackluster BBQ shack in Detroit and shouts “There will be no new king of Hell. Not today, not ever.” The power in his voice is accidental, meant to be kept on purely human level, but the structure of the universe remembers.

Remembers, and _obeys_.

The order reverberates throughout all the dimensions, every parallel universe where this Sam Winchester was destined to be the boy king. Countless worlds split and recombined, the tapestry always woven together. The order is heard by all who can hear it.

Three kings look up from their thrones as one, frowning at the declaration. One raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, sets aside his glass of wine, and stalks to the Pit to talk to his brother. One pauses, the ripples of the universe reminding him of something long forgotten, before leaning back and resuming his contemplation of today’s (everyday’s) exhibit-- Michael, twisted and bent into whatever shape the artisans feel necessary. And one, alone in a cold and empty Hell, smiles a bloodstained grin and the Earth _screams_.

A would-be king lays sprawled across the floor of an old convent, nailed in place, with a fallen angel standing over him. He screams out his refusal again. Years of refusals, years of scars, years of wishing to die.

Lucifer laughs and laughs and laughs.

Michael hears it, scoffs, glances at his brother sitting next to him. Lucifer raises an eyebrow in response and returns to Hell. 

Crowley, long thought dead, awakens in a place with no one. The words, the faith… he watches, disinterestedly, as the keeper of this place awakens with him, threatens to send him to the furthest reaches. It seems he has not been released.

A man in a threadbare Stanford sweatshirt mumbles in his sleep, rolls over and wraps an arm around his dog. His house is large and lived in, children’s toys scattered across the floor. His house is small, worn down, filled to the brim with people and animals he never sees. The apartment-- it’s not even his-- is never silent, empty bottles on the floor next to the couch, an ashtray full of half-smoked joints and cigarettes, other tools hidden, half-heartedly in the drawers of the coffee table.

Demons spew forth from their meatsuits, abandoning earth to the angels and the monsters, scattering before their king’s wrath.

**Author's Note:**

> You can read a slightly easier to understand version (with color!) on [my tumblr](https://treefrogie84.tumblr.com/post/179159584742/hazy-shades-of-winter) if that's a thing you might like?


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